Chapter 17 #2
Isabel watched from the steps of the hall for longer than she intended, her gaze following him as he moved from one conversation to the next. The longer she stood there, the more she felt…
Saints. She couldn’t give a name to what it was she was feeling, except a torrent of thoughts and emotion, clashing with one another. Once more, she found herself turning away from him, unable to face the growing affection within.
“Aye, please.”
By the time evening settled over Dunvegan, the sky had deepened into a rich purple that stretched endlessly above the sea loch, and torches burned along the courtyard walls, their flames bending in the steady wind.
The sounds of the day softened into something calmer, though the island never seemed to be fully still.
Most of the Macleod clan’s people slowly moved indoors.
Some into the castle, others to their crofts.
Farmers and merchants took their wagons, some loaded and others empty, back through the gates toward the village.
Tools were packed up, baskets, crates, and goods tucked into corners.
Children were rounded up, some thrown over shoulders where the last few exhausted giggles were excised.
They moved with a fluidity that defined their closeness as a family, not just a clan, if one had more things to package and put away, others who had less joined to help.
When Isabel had finished her tour with Angus in the kitchen, she had insisted the women within let her help.
Mostly they just let her stir things. And instead of the distraction she had hoped to find, she had just fallen deeper into her thoughts.
Freckles seemed to feel her strange mood and had spent the entire afternoon nestled deep in her bodice.
Not even showing herself when the enticing smells from the pots around them had soaked into her fur and Isabel’s skin.
She returned to her bedchamber, closing the door behind her as the quiet wrapped around her once more.
After the noise and movement of the courtyard, the tranquility pressed in more abruptly than she expected.
She moved slowly, loosening the ties of her cloak, her mind still tangled with everything she had seen.
With everything she had felt. And she realized one of those feelings was grief, she was mourning their closeness, and the lack of her own.
Uncle Robbie loved her, she knew he did, but he was all the family that she had.
But he wasn’t exactly one for affection.
So it was just her and Freckles against a world that didn’t give a damn what she might think, need, want.
A soft knock sounded at the door, and her grasp on her cloak’s ribbons stilled.
Isabel approached the door, lifting the bar and peering into the corridor. Lachlan stood there, tall and broad and handsome. She breathed in the scent of peat and leather and spice.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The space between them felt smaller, as though the walls of the corridor itself had drawn tighter around them. And then a tiny, furry head poked itself from around his shoulders.
“Who is that?” Isabel beamed at the ferret on Lachlan’s shoulders.
His grin widened. “Ah, aye, a surprise. My own ferret, Zeus.”
“Ye have a ferret.” It was hard to hide her delight, and hearing it, or more likely smelling Zeus, Freckles popped her head from Isabel’s bodice, making a chirping noise. “A friend for ye, Freckles. Do behave.”
The two ferrets leapt from their prospective owners and chased each other down the corridor.
“I do hope she’ll be all right.”
“I was going to say the same thing about Zeus.”
Isabel chuckled.
“May I?” He gestured toward her room, and without hesitation she opened the door, taking a step back as he filled the entryway.
“Ye should be resting,” she said at last, her voice quieter than she intended.
“I could say the same of ye.”
A faint smile touched her lips. “I am resting.”
His gaze moved briefly around the chamber, as though assessing it for danger, before returning to her. “I wanted to be certain ye were comfortable.”
“Ye have already done far more than that,” she replied.
He shrugged slightly, though there was a tension in the movement that had not been there earlier. “Ye were never a burden.”
“Ye thought I was when we began. But to be fair, I felt the same way.”
Lachlan chuckled. “And now?”
Isabel’s throat tightened, and fearful her voice would only come out a croak, she shrugged instead.
Lachlan stepped closer, and it felt like just that small deliberate step somehow sucked the air right out of her lungs.
Reaching to lift the cloak from her shoulders, his fingers brushed lightly against the side of her neck as he eased the fabric away.
The touch lingered, long enough not to be an accident.
Isabel’s breath caught and she shivered despite herself, her awareness narrowing to the mere inches of space between them.
Their hands brushed as he folded the cloak and handed it to her, and still she didn’t move to put the cloak away. Could hardly even open her mouth to say thank you.
“Isabel…” Lachlan whispered, her own feelings reflected in his eyes.
A dangerous battle between should or shouldn’t.